


Spirit of the Game

by athena_crikey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Friendship, Hospitalization, M/M, Mystery, Rehab, Slow Burn, kageyama will practice with a ghost if that's his only option, teammates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22154950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: As play continues, the scoreboard showing them nearing the end of the match, the ghost on the sidelines creeps close and closer to the court. He’s watching with tense eyes, his hands fisted, his knees bent. He’s practically trembling with anxiety, his lip caught between his teeth. He cheers every good play by the opponents’ team, and tells them to shake off the bad ones.Not that anyone other than Kageyama can hear him.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 14
Kudos: 73





	1. Prologue

It’s his last competition of middle school, and Kageyama’s dissatisfied. The team hasn’t gelled the way he dreamed of, hasn’t aligned itself to his tosses the way it should have. They’re still too slow, jumping too low, failing to spike his tosses correctly. 

He tries to keep calm as he warms up for the first match. It’s against some school he’s never heard of – they don’t have a reputation for volleyball. He watches them absently as he takes some flying dives under the net and sees a complete lack of talent. They look like a gym class, not a competitive team. 

Then, as his eye skirts the edge of the gym, he spots the boy. Small, too small for volleyball, with cowlicked orange hair and wide amber eyes. He looks away quickly, but it’s too late. The boy saw his gaze. 

The boy, or rather, the boy’s ghost. Kageyama can see right through him, see the door of the equipment lock-up through his loose hoodie. 

Great. A ghost, here, now. That’s all he needs. He can only pray the kid doesn’t try to distract him while he’s on the court, doesn’t make a fuss. 

Then Coach is calling, summoning them to the pre-match talk. Kageyama turns his back on the ghost and trots over to join the rest of the team in their huddle. 

“Our opponents appear untrained, but that’s no reason to let your guard down or slack off. Play to the best of your abilities, always. Mistakes cost points, and points can cost the match.”

The team captain nods and puts his hand into the circle; the rest of them follow his lead. “Kitagawa First!” 

Across the court, the other team is also cheering themselves on. Their chant, though, is much stranger. Kageyama just barely catches it: “For Shouyou!”

Then the ref is blowing the whistle to start the match, and they take their positions on the court.

  
***

As predicted, it’s an easy match. Their opponents have no real talent, and clearly haven’t practiced much. They get in each other’s way, miss serves, and fail to make the few spikes they manage to set up count.

On the other hand, Kageyama’s team is also struggling, albeit far less perceptibly. His spikers’ timing is off, and as much as he snaps at them to get with it, it doesn’t seem to make any difference. Still, they’re blasting far ahead in scoring – there’s no way their opponents can catch up. 

As play continues, the scoreboard showing them nearing the end of the match, the ghost on the sidelines creeps close and closer to the court. He’s watching with tense eyes, his hands fisted, his knees bent. He’s practically trembling with anxiety, his lip caught between his teeth. He cheers every good play by the opponents’ team, and tells them to shake off the bad ones. 

Not that anyone other than Kageyama can hear him. 

Finally, it’s match point on the second set. The end of the game. The ghost on the sidelines is staring, all concentration, as Kageyama tosses to his right, to the other side of the court from the ghost. His spiker fumbles – _idiot!_ – and the ball just barely makes it over the net. 

On the other side, the wing-spiker rushes forward, swinging for the ball. He’s too slow, though, he’s not going to connect – 

All of the sudden, out of nowhere, the ghost is there. Like an orange blur he streaks across the court, dodging players, and _leaps_. Kageyama’s never seen anything like it. Ghosts are mostly bound by the laws of physics, just like humans. But he’s never seen a human move like that. In one swing, the boy spikes the ball over the net and into the ground.

The opponents team cheers even as the wing-spiker stares at his hand, puzzled. The little ghost crows with victory, oblivious to Kageyama’s shocked stare. 

“Don’t mind, Kageyama!” shouts Coach. 

“You,” says Kageyama, softly, too quiet to be heard by the players. The ghost turns, eyes wide. “Get off the court. You don’t belong here.”

“You _can_ see me!”

The ref blows his whistle to announce the next serve; Kageyama glares. The ghost sidesteps off the court, still staring at Kageyama. 

Kitagawa takes the next point, and the match. His opponents look dejected, but not surprised. 

The ghost, on the other hand, dashes over to him. “You! You can see me!”

He tries to brush past, to ignore him.

“Hey! You! Kageyama, right? Look at me! C’mon, I know you can!”

The rest of the team is huddling up for the after-game talk. He glances at the ghost. “I can’t help you. Just leave me alone. You’ll only get in the way.” He turns and walks away, leaving the kid behind.

  
***

Kageyama’s been seeing them for as long as he can remember. Even as a young child he had known there was something different about the transparent people – something wrong. His parents hadn’t been able to help; that had been left to Grandma.

“The shades of the dead aren’t there to be feared, Tobio,” she told him, sitting with him on her engawa looking out over her tiny, perfect back yard. It was a yard to be admired, not for play. Like everything at Grandma’s house it was spotless and beautifully arranged. Traditional. Not at all like his large, modern house with its wooden floors and stainless steel appliances. “They’re there to be helped.”

“Helped?” He had kicked his feet over the edge of the wooden porch, toes dangling above the ground. 

“That’s right. The dead are here because they don’t know themselves to be gone. You need to help them realise it. Once they accept that their lives have ended, they can depart.”

He had craned his head up, met her black, shining eyes. “Where do they go?”

She smiled down at him, her wrinkles smoothing out. “They go back to where they belong, Tobio. Where they can be free.”

  
***

Of course, the boy doesn’t let him go. Of course.

He follows Kageyama throughout the day as their team shifts from court to court, opponent to opponent. Between games he tries to catch Kageyama, tries to attract his attention. 

Grandma had made it her mission to help the dead, had tried to send each and every one of them to that place where they could be free. But Kageyama’s no medium, no guide. He doesn’t have the words to convince ghosts that they’re gone, doesn’t have the patience or the personality for it. He just wants to be left alone. 

Besides, right now, he’s got bigger things to worry about. The team’s coming apart at the seams, unable to keep up with him. And no matter how much he chivvies them, tries to get them to pick up the pace and lift their damn feet, it does no good.

Until finally he tosses a ball behind him, and hears it hit the floor. He turns, and no one’s there. 

He’s been abandoned. It’s not the team that’s broken.

It’s him. 

Coach sends in a sub for him. Calls him to the bench and tells him to rest. But Kageyama knows what it means, can read the writing on the wall. 

He’s out. 

All he wants to do is bury his head in his hands, so ashamed he wishes the floor would open up and eat him. 

“Hey,” says a quiet voice from behind him. “That really sucks.”

“I can’t hear you,” replies Kageyama, and turns to watch his team lose without him.

  
***

Ghosts are tied to a person or a place, anchored either to where they died, or the person who killed them. Kageyama knows that as soon as he gets on the bus back to school, he’ll never see the boy again. And, for all that he’s determined not to follow in his Grandma’s steps, the kid doesn’t deserve to be left alone. So while his classmates are loading their stuff onto the bus, he turns to the orange-haired boy.

“You should accept it already. Accept that you’re dead, and move on.”

“What?” The boy stares at him, amber eyes wide. “I’m not dead.”

“Of course you are. Why don’t you think anyone can see or hear you? Why don’t you have to eat, or sleep, or piss?”

“I’m _not_ dead.”

“It’s none of my business. But until you accept it, you’re going to be stuck here alone.”

“I won’t,” says the boy, with confidence Kageyama can’t believe. And then, eyes shining, “I’m going to play volleyball.”

Kageyama sighs. “Whatever,” he says. He tried. And failed. Today seems to be full of failures. Coach calls him, and he hurries away. 

“I’ll see you again,” calls the boy after him.

 _No you won’t_ , thinks Kageyama without looking back.


	2. Chapter 1

Kageyama has big dreams. Seijou. Team Japan. The Olympics. 

His loss – his _failure_ – at the Prefectural Qualifier sends all that into a downward spiral. His odds of an invitation to Seijou tank after he’s benched in the final match and Kitagawa loses. And, despite what his mother calls a refined appearance, he’s frankly garbage at schoolwork. A real dumpster fire when it comes to academic prowess. 

So he’s not surprised that, when the school acceptance boards are posted, his number isn’t present at Aoba Jousai. It’s not present at Shiratorizawa, either. 

But it is at Karasuno. A has-been of a school, but if he’s lucky maybe one that still remembers its past glory. There may still be skilled upperclassmen and a strong coach, may still be enough potential for a run at Nationals in a few years, if he works hard. 

He shows up early on his first day of school, sakura blooming overhead in a soft pink cloud, with his club application form already complete. He steps into the gym to give his letter to the team captain, and stops dead.

There, on the sidelines beside him, is the orange-haired boy. Still wearing the same hoodie, still with the same wide, eager eyes.

Still dead. 

Kageyama stares at him, until the boy notices and turns. “Hey! You! Um… Yamayama, was it?”

“ _Kage_ yama,” hisses Kageyama. And then, seeing that the boys busy practicing haven’t noticed him yet, “What the _hell_ are you doing here?”

“I told you – I wanna play volleyball!”

“You’re _dead!_ Dead people _don’t play volleyball!_ ”

“Geez, you’re really up-tight about that, aren’t you Kageyama-kun?” The boy taps his foot, arms crossed over his chest. “I told you, I’m not dead.”

Frustrated, Kageyama swipes out his arm. It goes right through the boy’s shoulder, his fingers tingling slightly. “Could I do that if you were alive?”

The boy steps back, clasping his shoulder and frowning. “Hey, that’s my shoulder! What if you blow it away?”

“Wake up and realise it already: you don’t belong here.” He turns back to the other boys in the gym. “Dead people are tied to people or places. This isn’t the community gym, so it has to be one of them. Which one is it?” He points at the upperclassmen, currently warming up. 

The ghost scratches the back of his head, looking curiously at the boys on the court. “Eh? Tied? I dunno about that. I’ve never met them before. But then _I’m not dead_ so why would it matter?” 

Kageyama sighs. This is getting him nowhere. “Look, whatever. You don’t want to accept it? Fine. It’s not my problem. Just stay out of my way.”

And, before the ghost can object he steps in, raising his written form. “Excuse me?”

  
***

The trouble is, Kurasuno already has a setter. Sugawara, who seems mild-mannered and friendly, but who is also a third year and as such unlikely to step aside and sacrifice his slot for a first year.

“Kageyama,” he says, thoughtfully. “From…?”

“Kitagawa First,” replies Kageyama, standing stiffly. 

“You did well in the Preliminary Qualifications,” says Sugawara. “Were you on the court?”

“I played setter for most of the matches.”

“Up until the last one,” comes a bored voice from behind them. Kageyama turns to see a tall, blond boy with glasses enter the gym, followed by a shorter smiling one. “Isn’t that right, King?”

Kageyama feels his hackles rising, his teeth grinding together. “That’s not my name,” he bites out. 

“Oh? It’s what everyone calls you, you know. The great King of the Court.” The bland voice is mocking now, the blond’s dark eyes laughing. 

The bastard knows. Knows exactly what happened to him. And he’s rubbing Kageyama’s nose in it. 

Sugawara, clearly scenting antagonism, turns to the new boys with a smile while behind him the other two members – Sawamura and Tanaka – form up. “And you are?”

“Tsukishima Kei,” says the blond one, bobbing his head. 

“Yamaguchi Tadashi,” says the other, bowing more formally. 

“You’re here to join the club?” asks Sawamura. He’s pleasant but less kindly-looking than Sugawara. With clear eyes, he looks like a deep thinker. A good trait in a team captain. It’s something Kageyama’s always envied. 

“I guess,” says Tsukishima. Yamaguchi bobs his head in agreement. 

“You guess?” demands Tanaka, who with his shaved head and fiery poses looks like a wanna-be yankee. “You _guess?_ Volleyball is where it’s _at_ , what’s there to guess about?”

“I mean, yes,” agrees Tsukishima, expression still distant. 

“Tanaka,” chides Sugawara. “Don’t berate the new members.”

Tanaka crosses his arms over his sweatshirt. “Well, at least they’ve got height on their sides. As for _talent_ …” he looks at them critically, eyes narrow. “I guess that remains to be seen.”

Sugawara smacks the back of his head. “Don’t make it sound like we have some kind of initiation ritual. We’re happy for new members,” he adds to Kageyama and the other two first years. 

Sawamura nods. “Let’s warm-up, and we’ll see what you can do.”

  
***

Average, is what they can do. Tsukishima has height but no spirit; Tanaka has plenty of spirit but not enough all-around form; Yamaguchi is nothing much. Sugawara and Sawamura are the strongest two – they should be, they’re third years, after all.

The first time Kageyama tosses to Tsukishima, the blond only manages a passing touch, not a proper spike. Kageyama bites back an order. 

The second time, he can’t contain his irritation. “You have to move faster.”

Tsukishima turns to face him. “Let me make one thing clear, King. This isn’t your court, and I’m not your servant. You can’t order me around.”

“Hey, let it go,” calls Sawamura sharply, stepping forward. 

Tsukishima glances at him, then back at Kageyama. Then he turns away without speaking. 

“Kageyama – keep it positive, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

He manages to get through the rest of practice without losing his temper, despite more goads from Tsukishima. But later, when he’s collecting balls and putting them in the basket, he hears the blond talking to his shorter friend: “You know why they call him that, right? It’s because he was the tyrannical ruler of his team; he beat down everyone around him until they abandoned him.”

“Wow, Tsukki, really?”

“Yeah. So keep an eye on him.”

Kageyama turns to snap at them, and comes face-to-face with ghost boy. The orange-haired kid is standing beside him, watching him with wide eyes. 

Kageyama twitches. “What?” he hisses. 

“Wow, were you really like that? I mean, I guess you kinda _were_. I thought King was a cool nickname, but…”

“It’s not my name,” says Kageyama, for the second time that afternoon. “Don’t call me that.”

“Sugawara-san’s the setter, right? So how are you going to be setter too? Are you gonna have to wait for him to graduate?”

Truthfully, Kageyama doesn’t have an answer to that. But he’s not going to give up his position just because someone else is in it. 

“It’s none of your business,” he replies, and tosses a ball right through the ghost into the basket.

  
***

“Okay, let’s wrap it up,” says Sawamura. “It was great to meet you all today – I’m looking forward to our new team. For the next week, I want you all to practice a few things. Yamaguchi, receiving. Tsukishima, blocking. Kageyama – you need to practice adjusting your tosses to meet others. A setter’s job is to give the best tosses for his spikers, not the tosses that suit him the best.”

Clearly Yamaguchi and the ghost weren’t the only two to hear Tsukishima’s earlier comment. Kageyama nods; his jaw is too tense for him to speak. 

“Time to go home,” says Sawamura at the end of his little speech. The nets are put away, the balls locked up. But… 

“I want to keep practicing. Just a bit more,” says Kageyama. 

The upperclassmen look at each other. Tsukishima makes a bored noise and steps out, followed a moment later by Yamaguchi waving a hesitant goodbye. 

“I can practice wall-tosses,” says Kageyama, when none of the upperclassmen volunteer to stay. 

“I can’t leave you alone in the gym,” says Sawamura. “But you can take a ball and practice in the school ground.”

He nods. “Thanks!”

  
***

Outside it’s chilly, the March air cold. Kageyama has his sweater on under his gym jacket and rubs his fingers as he jogs over to the nearest flat wall. The school ground is deserted; the other clubs haven’t started up yet.

“How’re you going to practice matching the speed of others on your own?” asks the ghost. 

“How are _you_ still here?” asks Kageyama. The rest of the volleyball club has gone home; there’s no one here that the boy could be tied to. 

“I told you, I’m not tied to anything. I go where I want. I came here because I wanna play for Karasuno.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Of course it does. Didn’t you see their match in the Nationals – the Tiny Giant? He was awesome, so small but he really _flew_. I wanna be just like him!”

Kageyama glares. “Not that. I mean it makes no sense that you can go wherever you want.”

The boy shrugs. “That’s the way it is. I go to my old school, to the gym, here… The only thing is…” He glances down. “I can’t remember where I live.”

Memory loss isn’t uncommon in ghosts – otherwise they would remember that they’re dead. Kageyama considers telling him so, but has the feeling it’s not what he wants to hear. 

But then the boy looks up, eyes bright. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter. I came here because I want you to toss to me.”

“You’re dead. Solid objects go right through you.”

“Not when I don’t want them to. Don’t you remember – I hit that ball in your match against my school.”

Kageyama does remember it. He had passed it off to a fluke; sometimes ghosts can interact with the world of the living when they’re excited enough. 

“I’ll prove it. Toss to me.”

For a minute, he considers not doing it. Just ignoring the ghost and practicing on his own until the kid goes away. But the boy looks stupidly stubborn. So he sighs and hits the ball against the wall. As he lines up the toss, the boy starts running. Sprinting, faster than anything Kageyama has seen. It takes all his concentration to follow him, to toss the ball to where he’s going to be rather than where he is.

The boy erupts into the air and spikes, and the ball is sent hammering into the ground. 

Kageyama stares, shocked. 

The boy lands, turning to him with a wide smile on his face. “See? I told you.”

“That – you – _how?_ ”

The boy just laughs. “The look on your face is _priceless!_ ”

Kageyama puts his hands on his hips and stares him down. “You. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Shouyou.”

“Shouyou?”

“I don’t remember anything else. Just… Shouyou.”

Kageyama swallows. He looks around, but there isn’t anyone else. There isn’t going to be anyone else, not with Tsukishima spreading rumours about his past. And… the boy hit that toss like he’d been doing it his whole life. “Well. Shouyou. I guess you’re going to get your wish. I want to train with you.”


	3. Chapter 2

Shouyou is – _was_ – a natural athlete. Kageyama can see the talent in him, the strength and the speed and the height of his jumps all speak to it. But his volleyball skills are limited. He can barely serve or receive, can’t toss worth a damn. The only thing that seems to be going for him is his spiking, propped up by his athleticism. 

Still, had he been alive, it would have been enough. Hard training with a strong team would teach him the skills he needs to know. Skills can be taught; talent cannot. Shouyou has a talent, however rough around the edges it is. 

Of course, he’ll never have the opportunity to hone it now. But despite that he still embraces the joy of the game to its fullest, full of exuberance and joy when he spikes a toss perfectly into the ground. 

Kageyama’s never met someone who was _glad_ to receive his tosses. The other boys in middle school worked for them, sweated and sprinted and leapt for them. But something had always held them back from appreciating him.

 _King of the Court_ , thinks Kageyama, glumly. 

“Hey, what’s with that face?” Shouyou’s hopping from one foot to the other, vibrating with excitement after another successful spike. “We’re doing great – _you’re_ doing great. You’re like _bah_ , and I’m like _zoom!_ And _kablam_ – it all comes together.”

“Speak Japanese, dumbass,” says Kageyama. But he thinks he gets what the ghost is trying to communicate. It’s not happening every time – hell, not even often – but when they sync their rhythms something powerful is born.

With his middle school team, Kageyama had expected the players to adjust themselves to his tosses. It’s clear that approach won’t work with Shouyou; the boy doesn’t have the technical skill to find a ball in the air and make contact. But when Kageyama aims for where he knows Shouyou will be, somehow it works. 

The team captain had said: _A setter’s job is to give the best tosses for his spikers, not the tosses that suit him the best_. It’s not something Kageyama has ever considered before. But right now, he can see the truth of it.

“C’mon, another,” demands Shouyou, as Kageyama picks up the ball. He shows no sign of tiring. Do ghosts tire? Kageyama doesn’t know. But he _does_ know that he doesn’t want to stop either. He bats the ball against the wall and takes his position to toss it.

“Get ready, then.”

  
***

It’s cold and dark when Kageyama finally decides to call it quits. Even with the lights on in the school building behind them he can barely see the ball, and his breath is clouding the chill March air. “I need to go home,” he tells Shouyou, putting the ball away in his bag to return tomorrow and pulling on his sweater and school jacket.

“Awww.”

Kageyama fastens his jacket and looks down at the dejected boy. The boy who, even in death, has clung to volleyball unflinchingly. Kageyama knows that kind of dedication. “We can do this again. If you’re still around.”

The ghost cocks his head to the side, puzzled. “Where else would I be?”

Kageyama stifles the urge to roll his eyes skyward. “The afterlife. Where you belong.”

“I belong here. At Karasuno.”

There doesn’t seem to be any point in arguing. Kageyama shrugs and swings his bag over his shoulder. Pauses as he heads for the gate, glancing back. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Shouyou’s grin is bright as the sun.

  
***

There’s a light dusting of snow on the ground when Kageyama wakes up the next day. Hardly enough to really count as snowfall, it’s still whitened the world, layered evenly over roofs and trees and cars alike. Kageyama kicks at it as he heads in early for morning practice, leaving long dark furrows along the sidewalk.

He’s the first to arrive, the gym still closed. The sky is dark, the town’s lights twinkling in the distance. The air is cold. 

And, sitting on the stairs in front of the gym, is Shouyou. He’s huddled up, his knees drawn to his chest and his arms crossed over them, his head pillowed on them. 

Kageyama blinks. “You’re still here.”

Shouyou jerks upwards, a line of dribble trickling down from his mouth towards his chin. Spiritual saliva, thinks Kageyama. And then: “Were you sleeping?”

“Guess so.”

“You can sleep?”

Shouyou reaches up to scratch at his unruly hair. “I guess so,” he says again. He appears to consider it further. “I mean, I dunno. I get real bored at night, so usually I just sit down and kind of… shut off.”

“You’re out here all on your own?”

“Well, yeah. No where else to go.”

 _I can’t remember where I live_ , the boy had said. And there’s no one he can go to for help, no adult or friend he can turn to. 

No one except Kageyama, who feels utterly unprepared for the sudden squirming sensation of guilt in his gut. But he’s no spiritualist, no medium. He’s not Grandma. 

“That sucks,” he says, turning to look towards the gate in hope of rescue. The first of the third-years is arriving, and he straightens. “Practice is starting. Talk to you later.”

As he shifts his bag higher onto his shoulder he catches a brief glimpse of Shouyou’s face from the corner of his vision: the orange-haired boy looks hungry. Not for food, not for comfort, not for pity. 

Hunger for the game that Kageyama can still play, the game he can only watch from the sidelines.

  
***

He can’t stop thinking about Shouyou during practice. Each time he tosses, each time he receives a serve, he knows this is something he’s privileged to be able to do. It’s not the spikers who are lucky to receive his tosses, it’s him who’s gifted with the ability to play – the height, the skill, the training. But more than that, the simple fact of his existence allows him what Shouyou will never have again.

“You’re doing better, Kageyama,” says Sawamura as they rotate from tossing to serving. “You’re looking for what your spiker needs. That’s good.”

“Early days,” comments Tsukishima from the sidelines, his voice just barely audible. Kageyama casts a glare at him and jogs off after the captain to rotate to the other end of the court. 

“Don’t mind, Kageyama-kun~” shouts Shouyou from the sidelines.

This is the other reason he can’t stop thinking about the ghost. Shouyou has cottoned onto the fact that only Kageyama can hear or see him, and so has turned into a one-man cheering squad. True, he sometimes forgets himself and cheers good spikes or digs from the other players, but most of his commentary is aimed solely at Kageyama. 

“Nice toss!” or “Shake it off!” or “Oh, almost!” He is unrelentingly positive, and unceasingly noisy. 

“You don’t need to cheer for me,” hisses Kageyama to him during a brief hydration break. 

“But that’s good teamwork,” replies the ghost immediately. 

The words _We’re not a team_ form in Kageyama’s throat, but for some reason they don’t make it any further. He tilts his head back and guzzles sports drink. Then, awkwardly: “Yeah. Right.”

Then the captain’s whistle blows, and break is over.

  
***

It’s only the second day of school for the new school year; classes are still just getting started, teachers still mostly in orientation mode. Kageyama daydreams his way through the day, thinking about the volleyball videos he watched the night before. Then the final bell rings, and he’s down to the gym again to start afternoon practice.

“Yo,” says Shouyou, waiting outside the door. “I was watching the girls practice during lunch.”

Kageyama glances at him, raising an eyebrow silently. 

“It’s not like that, you perv! Anyway, they’re not really into it. They quit after only half the lunch break.”

“Maybe it’s just a past-time for them,” comments Kageyama.

Shouyou shakes his head, looking downwards, eyes hidden beneath his orange mop. “What a waste.”

“Look,” says Kageyama suddenly, unable to stand the twist of guilt in his gut. “We’ll practice again after practice. So wait for me. Okay?” 

The ghost’s head shoots up, his face brightening. “Really?”

“Yeah. We both have more to learn.”

  
***

Kageyama’s never slacked off during practice, but with only the six of them now – the rest of the club members are on a one-week break – all three of the first-years are under the spotlight of the captain and vice-captain. Kageyama works hard, and while it’s difficult to adjust his tosses to others rather than having them come to him, he makes some progress.

The question of what will happen to a team with two prime setters stays buried – for now. 

“Good work!” calls Sawamura at the end of practice, clapping his hands. “Let’s put away the equipment and clean up.”

“Captain?”

Sawamura looks at him.

“Can I keep a ball out overnight again?”

The third-year gives him an appreciative look. “More practice, Kageyama?”

Kageyama nods. 

“Well, it seems to be paying off for you. So sure. Make sure to bring it back tomorrow.”

“Right!”

  
***

He waits until the others leave, Shouyou hovering anxiously by his side, before heading along to the same bare strip of wall as yesterday and bouncing the ball against the frozen ground.

“C’mon! Let’s go! Bring it!” Shouyou’s clearly done waiting. Kageyama bounces the ball against the wall, catches it in his upraised hands, and tosses it to the apex of Shouyou’s swing. His hand connects and he kills it dead. 

“Nice,” says Kageyama, retrieving the ball. 

There’s something contagious about the ghost’s excitement, something that makes practice fun in a way it never has been. Kageyama loves the setter’s control, loves orchestrating great plays, loves scoring points. And he craves the adrenaline that comes from pushing his body to its peak performance and holding it there just as he needs the thrill of close games. Volleyball makes him feel good in a way nothing else ever has. But it’s never been _fun_ – has always been dead serious. 

Now, in the evening under the warm lamplight as snow starts to fall, he’s having fun. He rolls his eyes and snorts and out-right laughs at Shouyou’s ridiculous attempts to spike, at the way he always bounces right back for more, at his outlandish commentary. His heart is racing, excited, exuberant, his face flushed. He’s still in control, still the one in charge of the tosses. But in aligning himself to Shouyou he’s putting more of himself into the game, is giving even more than he ever has. And in enjoying the ghost’s victories, he can enjoy his own. 

It’s exhilarating. 

There’s still a lot of room for improvement, of course. Shouyou is currently only properly spiking about 20% of the tosses, is over-compensating or over-thinking the others.

“I have an idea,” says Shouyou after another miss, as Kageyama retrieves the ball.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Let’s try again. Toss it right to me – to where it needs to be.”

“Like you need to tell me that,” snorts Kageyama. But he thumps the ball against the wall and picks it up in a toss, aiming it at the apex of Shouyou’s swing as he leaps. 

As he throws himself into the air and Kageyama tosses the ball, he sees to his shock that the ghost’s eyes are closed. Shouyou hits the ball straight-on and it pounds into the ground. 

“What,” demands Kageyama, “was that?”

“’S all distracting, having so much going on. And really, you’re the one in control; I’m just throwing a spike. So I thought…”

It’s not inconceivable. Shouyou only knows one speed, one form – and that predictability, which could be a liability in a game, is right now an asset; it allows Kageyama to toss perfectly for him. But that anyone could be simple enough to trust that… 

“Do it again,” he orders. The ball thumps into the wall, Shouyou takes his run-up and leaps; Kageyama tosses the ball, and Shouyou spikes it straight into the ground. Eyes completely closed. 

“You’re crazy.” He doesn’t know if he means it as an insult or a compliment. He’s never known anyone who could do this – who would ever _think_ to do it. If they could use it in a game, it would confuse the hell out of their opponents. 

But they can’t use it in a game. 

Kageyama is abruptly anchored to reality even as the ghost is grinning like a maniac beside him. 

He will never be able to play in a game with Shouyou. 

His sweat seems to cool suddenly all at once, leaving him shivering in the icy night air. Is spending time with someone who will never be a team-mate, who will never be a friend, who will never be _alive_ really such a good idea?

Right now, he doesn’t know. “I think it’s time for me to go home,” he says.

“What? But we’re just hitting our rhythm!”

“We can do it again tomorrow.” He says the words, knowing they may be a lie. This may be something he should be putting a stop to now, before it goes too far. 

“But…”

Kageyama’s already zipping the ball into his bag. “I’ll see you later.”

“Kageyama?”

But he’s already heading for the gate.


	4. Chapter 3

Kageyama’s going nuts trying to think of a way to deal with this problem. 

Ignoring the ghost would be the easiest way, but if he chooses Shouyou could easily make Kageyama’s life miserable. Constant distractions, interfering with his play, following him home. A real haunting. While the boy doesn’t seem to have a trace of malignancy to him, he is incredibly determined. Trying to just ignore him seems doomed to failure.

Carrying on like before would be simple too. Just keep practicing with the ghost, keep him happy. But how long could that satisfy either of them? They can only practice alone, and eventually nothing but tossing and spiking will lose its thrill. The fact that they can never use what they’ve perfected in a game will make them bitter sooner or later. 

Finally, the option he’s least excited about: try to put Shouyou to rest. Do what he’s been avoiding his whole life, surrender to the fact that this is one ghost he needs to help. One boy who needs to pass over. Even if it’s the last thing Shouyou wants. 

Kageyama wishes he had someone he could talk to about it. Wishes Grandma were still alive. She would have been able to help, would have solved this problem in an instant. He goes to the family shrine and prays for her, prays _to_ her. _Please help me fix this._

But no answer comes from the ether. 

Kageyama eats dinner, studies, takes a bath, all without coming to any resolution to his problem. By the time he’s in his pyjamas sitting on his computer watching volleyball videos, the tension is making his stomach knot. He closes out of youtube and sits staring blankly at Google. Then, slowly, he types in:

 _Shouyou middle school student death Miyagi Prefecture._

A dead middle-school student should have made the news, even if he doesn’t have the last name. But as he scrolls through partial matches he doesn’t find anything that seems to fit the circumstances. He accesses a few news sites and tries variants of the search on them, but while he finds one middle school student death in Miyagi and one death of a middle school teacher named Shouyou in neighbouring Yamagata Prefecture, he doesn’t find anything that lines up. 

Could he have died somewhere else? On a trip to Tokyo, or even abroad? But how would his ghost have returned? Kageyama still doesn’t understand how it is that Shouyou doesn’t seem to be tethered to a person or place. 

He returns to Google and carefully types in: 

_Seeing ghosts._

It’s not the first time he’s looked to the internet for advice. Even when Grandma had been alive, she hadn’t known how common her ability was, hadn’t had any network of support. She had been strong enough to do what needed to be done on her own, without relying on anyone else. Alone and lost, Kageyama wonders at that strength. 

Now, as before, the search engine finds thousands of sites dedicated to the supernatural, to finding and exorcising ghosts, to spiritual detectives, to mediums. He clicks on a few links, browses a few pages.

It’s all fake. Pretentiousness and mysticism, false truths and outright lies. Even those forums where some users seem to be legitimately discussing their experiences are filled with hype and sensationalism. They include catchy headlines like: _Meeting my dead Grandpa_ , and _OMG, my school is HAUNTED_ , and _I keep seeing people with no faces (゜ロ゜)._

It strikes Kageyama as inauthentic drivel. For him, seeing ghosts is weirdly normal. It’s just a part of his life, not something to be freaked out about or monetized. It’s not terrifying, or horrifying, or astounding.

It’s mostly just frustrating and, sometimes, sad. 

He shuts down his computer, gets up, and goes to bed.

Sleep is a long time coming

  
***

The next day, Kageyama skips morning practice. It’s not volleyball he can’t face, it’s Shouyou. He still hasn’t made a decision about the boy. He skulks into school as the bell chimes, blending in with the crowd, head bowed low. 

He can’t seem to pay attention in class, the teachers’ droning just background noise to his frantically turning thoughts. But every way he twists this puzzle, every angle he tries to take it apart from, he always comes back to the same three options: Ignore Shouyou; give him what he wants; help him pass over.

With no firm decision in his mind, he drags himself out at lunch to the gym. The rest of the team is practicing inside, shoes squeaking on the polished floorboards. Standing in the doorway looking in, noon sun shining right through him without leaving a shadow, is Shouyou. 

“Hey,” says Kageyama awkwardly.

Shouyou spins like a top, eyes wide and excited. “You’re here! I thought you must’ve been sick this morning. Or were you slacking off, Kageyama-kun?” he asks in a wheedling tone, his grin crooked. 

“We can’t practice now,” he says, avoiding the question. “People will notice.”

The ghost sighs. “I know.” He looks utterly downcast, shoulders slumped and head bowed. Like a disappointed child. 

“Look. I’ll – I’ll come back tonight. After evening practice. Right?”

Under his orange mop, Shouyou’s eyes widen and he smiles. “Right!”

Kageyama raises the netting blocking the open door and steps into the gym, heart in his shoes as Shouyou cheers him from behind.

  
***

The only reason he made the promise is because he’s weak, Kageyama decides later while daydreaming in class. A stronger person would have said no, just as a stronger setter would have brought together the Kitagawa First team. That bastard Oikawa, for example, would have had no problem with it. 

Instead he caved, and now he’s committed to practicing with Shouyou tonight. 

Regular practice seems to go by faster than usual. Kageyama keeps spacing out, earning reprieves from Sawamura and smirks from Tsukishima. Finally, after he misses his third toss in a row, the captain calls him over.

“Call it quits for today, Kageyama. Your head’s not in the game.”

He straightens, somewhere between insulted and embarrassed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not bringing your best to it, and that’s when injuries happen. We don’t have the full team assembled yet; you can afford to take an early night. And no,” he adds, when Kageyama opens his mouth, “you can’t borrow a ball tonight.”

In a way, it’s almost a relief. It gives him an excuse to prolong his decision, an opportunity to put off Shouyou. He walks off the court, ignoring Tsukishima’s snide remark, and picks up his bag. 

“Kageyama?” It’s Shouyou. The ghost is standing beside him in the corner of the gym, hands loose, expression concerned. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says quietly, swinging his bag up onto his back. “But no practice tonight. Sorry.”

“What’s wrong with you?” persists the ghost, trailing him as he heads for the open door and the cold night air. “You were so into it yesterday.”

“Everyone has off days.” He steps past the green netting and out onto the concrete step to change his shoes, his tone short. He’s tense, mind full of doubt and anger, some directed at the ghost, some at himself. 

“You’re too focused for that. I’ve seen it. All you care about is volleyball. When you’re on the court it’s like you shine. When you’re on the sidelines you just look dull. Dim.”

“I’m not a lightbulb,” grouses Kageyama. But he knows it’s true. He never feels alive the way he does when he’s on the court – and especially when playing a match. It makes the fact that he’s been sent home all the more frustrating. He’s _never_ been sent home before. 

Shouyou keeps pushing, getting up in Kageyama’s face as he ties his laces. “It’s your everything. Just like me. So why’re you spacing out?”

Kageyama shoves him away – and, of course, his arms go right through the ghost. 

“Hey!” snaps Shouyou, stepping back. “Why’re you being such a jerk today?”

Kageyama stalks away around the gym, far from prying ears. His skin feels fiery, his thoughts storming. 

“Hey!” says Shouyou again, following him.

Kageyama turns, pointing his finger at Shouyou’s chest and glaring. “You want to know what’s up with me? It’s you. You’re right: all I want is to play volleyball. To be just a normal high school kid with a normal hobby. And then there’s you. What am I supposed to do, take pity on you and play with you because you’ve got no one else? I’ve got my own life to lead – how am I supposed to make time to mess around with someone who’s never going to use the skills he’s learning? I should be playing with the team instead – with people who can actually play! Now I’m being sent home because you keep distracting me!” The words rush out of him in a stream, scalding his insides as he spews out all the thoughts and feelings and frustrations. 

Shouyou stands there in front of him, staring like he’s been struck. His eyes are huge – like a deer’s in the headlights, right before the car impacts. 

“Oh,” he says, voice small. 

Kageyama suddenly, abruptly, feels like he’s kicked a puppy. Hard. 

“Look,” he says, with a forced calm. “It’s not your fault. It’s just… this can’t work. Where is this all going? Nowhere. You don’t have a future.” The words taste bitter in his mouth. He abruptly wishes he were better at communication, at dealing with others. He’s always had team-mates; never friends. 

“And you do,” says the ghost, staring back at him. “I get it. I just thought… playing with me might help you. You were having fun last night. You were getting better. Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what your captain wants?”

“And what happens when there’s no more improvement left? How much can we really change, just the two of us?”

“Two is more than twice one,” retorts Shouyou, angrily. “Why are you trying to make this fail? Didn’t you feel it, the … _thing_ between us? When you toss and I spike – something bigger than the two of us is born!”

“And that _thing_ will _never_ be usable in a game. Not even a practice match. Don’t you see? You’re –”

“ _Dead?_ ” Shouyou fists his hand and, in a fit of rage, slams it into the side of the gym. The aging stucco crumbles; he winces and pulls his hand away. As Kageyama watches, semi-transparent blood starts to run down the side of his hand. 

“I… don’t think that should be happening,” the setter says, staring. 

“Haven’t you ever seen blood before?”

“Not on a ghost.” Kageyama narrows his eyes, tries to dredge up long-forgotten knowledge, imparted to him from Grandma years back. “Ghosts are like… like a memory, almost. Of their lives. They don’t remember their deaths – not until they pass over, anyway. It’s not like in horror movies where they’re all gory. Ghosts look the way they think of themselves as looking. And they don’t bleed. They’re not really _real._ ” Not the way this boy seems to be. 

Shouyou crosses his arms. “So what?”

Kageyama takes in a deep breath. He didn’t want to make this decision, has been actively fighting it. But he can no longer ignore the fact that something strange is going on here. “So I think you should come home with me,” he says.

Shouyou stares. And then, slowly, his face brightens until he’s grinning fit to split his cheeks. “Really? You mean it?”

“Yeah.” He nods once. 

Shouyou’s eyes grow, if possible, even wider. Tears glint in them in the faint light filtering out of the gym. “Thanks, Kageyama!”

  
***

Bringing Shouyou home on the bus is no problem – the bus is pretty empty this time of night and the orange-haired boy has no fare to pay. They sit together looking out the window, Kageyama hyper-aware of the other passengers’ scrutiny. He nods occasionally as Shouyou makes conversation, but the ghost realises soon enough that Kageyama’s not going to talk to an invisible spectre in a public venue. 

After they get off the streets are cold and lonely, and there’s more opportunity to talk. “Is there really nothing you remember about what happened to you?” Kageyama asks, more curious now than he ever has been.

Shouyou considers it, head tilted back towards the stars. The light of the passing streetlamps catches softly on him, lighting him in warmer tones than it does Kageyama. “Not really. I know I was a student at Yukigaoka. Must’ve been kinda recently because my friends just graduated. But time got a little messed up. There’s a gap, and I don’t remember what happened. I just know I’ve been this way for a while.”

“What _do_ you remember?”

“Hm. My memories of being real are kinda mixed up. I can remember my parents and my sister, but not their faces. I remember going to school and coming home, but not the route I took or my address. What really stands out is volleyball.”

“I knew we’d get to that.”

“Well, it’s my everything, like I said. Ever since I saw the Tiny Giant on TV, I’ve wanted to play volleyball at Karasuno.”

Kageyama stares down at him. “…The Tiny Giant?”

Shouyou looks up, eyes wide. “You don’t know him? He was _amazing._ The way he jumped – just like he was flying. Like the net was nothing to him. And _wham_ , he spiked the ball dead. I wanna be just like him.”

For the first time, Kageyama realises that he can no longer simply dismiss this as a ridiculous, impossible dream. He no longer has any idea what’s happening with Shouyou. 

No longer knows what, exactly, he is. 

Beside him Shouyou walks on, swinging his arms and smiling. Completely unconcerned about the future, about the mystery of his presence. Just clearly happy to no longer be on his own.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm predicting 3-4 chapters...


End file.
